


Helping hearts

by Cleverbreawisekylan



Category: The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 14:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21181301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverbreawisekylan/pseuds/Cleverbreawisekylan
Summary: Set in 1 x 9, just a little fluffy snippet of Kylan doing his best to cheer up a downhearted Brea.





	Helping hearts

Brea sits quietly by the dwindling fire, eyes staring at the once again orange flames. The night closes in, bringing with it a swift chill, but she struggles to feel the cold herself. She is too consumed with her own thoughts, fighting to cope with her recent losses. Mother . . . Tavra, even _Mother Aughra_ had sacrificed herself for her and the other gelflings.

How many more sacrifices must they make?

A lump begins to rise in her throat, tears teetering on the edge. Brea is surprised that there are any left – she had cried the entire time that the gelfing had returned Tavra to Thra, tears flowing freely for her sister. She haphazardly wipes at her cheek as they begin to flow.

“Are you okay?”

Her head snaps to the side to see Kylan lowering himself to sit beside her. In his hand he carries a bowl of broth, steam rising gently from its surface.

“Kylan.” She says in surprise. Once again, she wipes at her teary face. “I’m fine.”

He looks back to her unconvinced.

“Okay,” Brea admits, “I’m . . . it’s been a trying few days. I think it’s all catching up on me.”

“It has,” he nods, looking off into the distance at the setting suns. His eyes reflect the pink and grey hues of the sky, and in that moment she thinks that he truly looks like the wise Kylan that Mother Aughra had introduced in the dream space. “I saw you with your sister,” he confesses, voice soft, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She purses her lips, face twisting with sadness. “I had just got her back.” He tilts his head, curiously. “I thought even if we had lost mother, the three of us would be together again.” Her eyes hover over the sleeping silhouette of Seladon. “The skeksis have taken so much from us.” _From me._

“You must remain strong, Brea.” Her ears prick up at the way he speaks her name, kind and soft and . . . _sweet_. “Loss is never easy, but you will learn to live with it. And you will always carry their spirit with you.”

“You speak as though you have experienced loss yourself,” she observes, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“I lost my parents to a skeksis. It was a burden I had to carry with me from a very young age.”

A small gasp leaves her lips, Brea turning to face Kylan even more. “A _skeksis_?”

“One that they call The Hunter.” He nods glumly. “My parents and I lived on the edge of the Dark Wood . . . we were outcasts because my parents were from opposing clans.” He sighs, “And there was no help when he murdered them. Even when I tried to tell the truth, no one would believe me. Even today, the gelfling of Sami Thicket would not listen. They won’t see the skeksis for what they truly are out of fear.”

She regards him with shock but also admiration. Wise, Mother Aughra had called him. Wise he may be, but also courageous, _honest_. Brea is glad to have Kylan amongst them in the resistance. “They will listen,” she insists, voice assured. “And we will defeat the skeksis. For your parents, for mother and Tavra . . . for _Thra_.”

He nods in hopeful agreement, before the conversation lulls into a comfortable silence. Her heart still heavy with sadness yet Kylan’s presence does seem to keep the tears at bay. While he casts his gaze toward the fire, she observes the Spriton with curiosity. Her amber eyes travel from his jet black hair, streak with soft green to the firca tied neatly against his belt. She smiles as she thinks back to his song, a sweet gesture in her time of need and oh, how beautiful it had sounded. A memory she doesn’t want to forget, so much so that she had stayed up late into the eve drawing it in her journal.

Brea reaches into her sleeve to retrieve it, feeling it may cheer her up to recount the scene. Her heart drops in horror when she realises there is no journal to be found. Instead, just her dirtied clothes. “Wha – I . . . _oh_!” She frantically feels the entirety of her garments, sure that it must be somewhere, yet comes up empty handed. “My journal!” Brea exclaims in upset.

Kylan jumps at her sudden outburst, eyes widening before he turns to her with a frown. “Brea?”

“I can’t find my journal.” She announces, body deflating and ears flattening above her head. It suddenly feels as though another piece of her is lost among the wilderness of Thra, with no hopes of finding it.

He doesn’t discard her upset like Seladon would. _It’s only a journal_, she would say. Kylan exudes understanding, asking her gently. “Was it important to you?”

“It was a gift from my grandmother.” She sighs, frustrated at the tears bubbling up once more, “and it’s where I wrote everything I learned. I can’t believe it’s gone.” Brea swallows thickly, thinking to all that lost knowledge. Wracking her brains, she tries to think of the last time she had it, and vaguely remembers it before she had been taken by a hunter. With a wistful sigh, she realises it must be lost somewhere amongst the sands of the crystal desert.

He watches her sadly, before his eyes brighten and his mouth opens with a little, “_ah_.”

Turning her head, Brea watches the Spriton with narrowed eyes as he rummages through the pockets of his clothes, eventually pulling out a small object. The small book is wrapped in a silk cloth, a small piece of rope holding it closed. He looks between the book and then her before gently outstretching his hand.

“Take this instead – I know it’s not the same, but it’ll give you somewhere to put your story.”

Taken aback by his generosity, she hesitates. “Kylan . . . I couldn’t. It belongs to you.”

“I use them to write songs in. I can get plenty more. Besides, I want you to have this.”

The tips of her ears turn pink first, her cheeks following despite herself. She smiles and accepts the gift before his words truly sink in. “Wait, you can _write_?” she asks giddily, practically bouncing in her seat. Very rarely does she meet a gelfling who shares her interest in the written language.

He nods.

“I learned many trine ago while my peers put their skills into battle. I am shockingly bad at throwing a bola, but words are easy.”

She regards him with a smile then, growing steadily as she imagines the gentle Spriton attempting to fit in with his clan.

“Not that there are many books owned by my clan. I’m afraid there was little to read about other than farming and cooking. Still,” he continues with a burst of pride, “reading is how I learned to make the best broth this side of the dark wood!” He suddenly looks down to the forgotten bowl in his hands. “_Oh_ . . . I did bring this for you. I noticed you didn’t eat much earlier and thought you might be hungry – but it might be a little cold.” His nervous chuckle fills the air like a melody.

“Thank you.” Her voice is kind, “for the book too. It’s lovely.”

He smiles, giving a curt nod. “I hope it serves you well, Brea.” There is it again, the way her name falls ever so softly off her lips. It sends a shiver down her spine. She watches as he stands, stepping back toward the pot he had been tending to for a good while earlier before she calls out his name. Kylan turns. “Yes?”

“”Maybe when all this is over and the skeksis are defeated, I could show you the library at Ha’rar? There are hundreds of books, about every topic! I’m sure we could even find some on song telling.” She can hear her own eagerness slipping through and struggles to rein it back in.

Kylan doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his eyes widen in delight. “That would be wonderful,” he says. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She finds herself watching him walk away until he is on the other side of the camp. Her smile widens as he begins playing tunes in earnest, the sounds melodic and soothing. Feeling newly invigorated, she eats the luke warm soup before focusing her attention to the book he’d given her. Although of humble origin, it is finely crafted by someone with skill and she wonders if Kylan had made it himself.

Flicking through the pages, she admires the idea of a fresh start and knows just how to begin the story. Brea pulls out her pencil and begins sketching the wise Spriton boy who has shown her that kindness can go a long way.


End file.
